


Music of the Soul

by runicsecret



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1980s, 1990s, Andy Grammer - Freeform, Asexuality Spectrum, Barenaked Ladies, Elton John - Freeform, Feelings Realization, Inspired by Music, Lady GaGa - Freeform, Linkin Park - Freeform, M/M, Music Festival, Music based fic, Recreational Drug Use, Romantic Fluff, Snow Patrol, TLC, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Verve - Freeform, Warlock - Freeform, Wedding, anathema/newt - Freeform, aziraphale yearns, brother francis, high aziraphale, nanny ashtoreth - Freeform, pink floyd - Freeform, warlock dowling/adam young implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicsecret/pseuds/runicsecret
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley was always one for emotions. Emotions were part of his job.So why did it take Elton John to get him to face his?Or, a travel through the years as the fallen angel and angel encounter beboop and relate to it in various way.





	1. Crowley's Blues

**Author's Note:**

> "I Guess That's Why they Call it the Blues" was the first song I heard after my binge watch so your stuck with this. I may make it so that Crowley hears a song every few years that bring about a new realization. 
> 
> This is also the first fanfic I've written in almost 12 years, so do forgive me. I loved these characters then and I still love them now.

It was 1984. The demon known as Crowley was walking through London on a particular dreary day. He didn’t necessarily like it, but it was always the easiest days to sow the basic amounts do discord.

_“Dust out the demons inside~”_

He suddenly stopped and the crooning he heard. Exorcisms were no longer common place in England, so that wasn’t it.

_“To the place where our hearts hide”_

What in the world was this? It wasn’t the normal rock he listened to, but the 1980s were taking an interesting turn on that. It had elements of it, but...there was piano. And the piano was so familiar and calming and warming. The demon starts slithering through the crowd, turning toward the sound until he finds the record store who’s door keeps opening and closing.

_“Baby’s got blue eyes,_  
_When the morning comes,_  
 _I’ll be far away,”_

“That song that was just on,” he demands, “how can I get a copy”

“Oh. Elton John fan, yeah? How did you miss that release? It was huge!” The shop keep responds with a kind smile despite the punk facade.

“Yeah, sure, I was overseas,” Crowley says shortley.

“It hit Top 50 everywhere. Even Zimbabwe!”

“I was vacationing to Japan after researching the arctic. The album.”

If it wasn’t for his shades, Crowley’s eyes would be all but yellow as his patience flared. He needed to understand why this song stirred such, well, emotions of some kind. Fear? Peace? Welcoming? Sadness? This blue eyes song wasn’t bad either, it reminded him of someone.

“Here, last copy that I don’t have on the table.”

Crowley took it and paid, leaving without taking any change, making up for that by no saying goodbye or thank you. He rushed back home and put the record on.

_“Don’t wish it away,  
Don’t look at it like it's forever,”_

  
It had been forever. Forever since he sauntered downward. Forever since he sought Aziraphael out that first time. He didn’t mean to wish it away. Why had he not he taken the aphrodisiac offer that one time? For all they knew, it was going to be forever and here the demon was, wishing forever would stop.

_“Between you and me I could honestly say_   
_Things can only get better”_

Crowley blinked. Well they had. Crowley saved Aziraphael from the Nazi’s. Along with the books. Which earned Crowley the warmest feeling from his angel ever. Then, in the 60’s Aziraphale helped him and got him holy water, which he smiled inwardly at as his eyes shifted to the safe. So they were back on talking terms since the 1800s when they didn’t talk at all. And the demon hated it. He hated the lonely. He may have felt rejected by being told he moved too fast, but he was a demon and that meant all go all the time. Discord, dishonesty, distrust. All the dis-es really. In fact, the only marginal slow down was for Aziraphale, but that meant that the blue eyes angel never noticed it.

_“And while I’m away_  
Dust out the demons inside  
And it won’t be long until you and me run  
To the place where our hearts hide”

Did his angel go and cavort with the artists again? Was this some sick universe joke? He had no way to dust himself out of himself. Where would they go hide? Hell might not watch him very closely, but upstairs, well, they kept a closer eye on things. And he couldn’t run alone, that would mean no more…

What?

Music? Fine. Car? Sad, but fine. Plants? They gave him something to do. So what would it mean no more of?

_“And I guess that’s why they call it the blues_  
_Time on my hands could be time spent with you_  
 _Laughing like children, living like lovers”_

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh damn. Those baby blue eyes appeared right away. Living in Crowley’s apartment, working at the bookstore, walking Aziraphael to work everyday, picking him up at lunch for a walk, having dinner. Damn. This. How. When.

Then. When he admitted that a demon trusted an angel with his life. And the purest soul tried to talk him out of it. And instead walked away, leaving Crowley there so dumbfounded he was childish. He needed to see his angel. Just see. He pushed away from his desk and walked out the door, grabbing his keys…

_“Rolling like thunder, under the covers  
And I guess that's why they call it the blues”_

There was still that. Crowley could live. There were other pleasure, other loves besides that. He tried it once or twice every one hundred years or so, but never developed a taste for it, but it was a great way to sow discord. And it didn’t matter his form either. But Aziraphale. Would it be the same? If they did, the angel would not saunter, oh no, it would be a less than graceful tumble.

And, for the first time in his life, Crowley employed self-restraint. If this was a love letter to him of sorts, well, he would listen.

_“Just stare into space_  
_Picture my face in your hands_  
 _Live for each second without hesitation_  
 _And never forget that I’m your man”_

Nope. That was enough. The door was flung open and slammed behind him just as quickly. His legs carried him down multiple steps at a time. Wings were a consideration, but again, fast maybe wasn't needed. He did jump from the last landing to the ground, pushing the door open in an abrupt motion that at best would slam someone in the face, at worst shatter some glass. Thankfully, the Bentley was never far and never had a problem turning over. He had no idea what he was doing, what he would say, how he would act. It had been a bit, well, about 6 years since the last visit, and he felt it would be enough to just know that Aziraphale was still there, remembered him just fine, and was happy. Which he quickly covered in his mind with thoughts of blatant murder and disarray. In the streets, there was just the squeal of tires, but in the apartment:

_“Wait on me girl_  
_Cry in the night if it helps_  
 _But more than ever I simply love you_  
 _More than I love life itself_  
 _And I guess that’s why they call it the blues”_

But Crowley wouldn’t have cared. He was going to go call on his blue.


	2. A Little More Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley visits Aziraphale and does not get the welcome he expects.

Aziraphale had just locked up his store and maneuvered over to his record player and put on the Piano Sonata No. 14 by Beethoven. It was one of his favorites to sit and listen to while drinking a glass of tea and reading whatever book he reached out and got a hold of first. He walked back to the kitchenette and put on the kettle when he heard the doorbell. 

 

“Now how did you open, we are closed!” he bristled as best he could moving through to the front. By the time he got there, the lock clicked and the door opened. “We are...oh, Crowley. It has been some time. Tea?”

 

“Are you sure you aren’t closed?” the demon teased back.

 

“Well, yes, but I assume this is not a normal business call,” Aziraphale smiled, “It would be a miracle for you to read a book.”

 

“Hey now! Tea would be,” he said with a pause as he watched over his shoulder to see the angel lock the door again and bit back a smile, “acceptable.”

 

“It is far to early for alcohol and none for you without food for me anyhow,” the angel tutted, walking back around. 

 

It felt so familiar to Crowley, despite them not having seen each other in years. He had opted to keep his distance after the whole holy water incident. So they fell right back into step, outside of the new piano tune in Crowley’s head. 

 

One that did not go with the Beethoven currently playing. 

 

“Hey, Aziraphale, have you ever spoken to a gentleman named Elton John?”

 

“No, can’t say that I have. Should I of?” 

 

“No, no. Just, heard a song that reminded me of you.”   
  


“Reminded you of me?” Aziraphale stopped abruptly and turned. “Whatever do you mean?”

 

What had he ever done? Why did he have to expand. Quick, Crowley, think your way out of this! It is obvious that it wasn’t set up by Aziraphale and he revealed too much, so he now needed to figure out how to make it seem innocent and selfless. Not at all like it was deeper than their current...truce? Friendship? Whatever this lovely thing that allowed them to exist together was.

 

“I just mean,” he started, drawing out the single syllable just while he thought, “oh! Beethoven! Piano, yes pianos. You quite like them, right?

 

“Well, yes. I feel that I have for nearly the entire time I’ve known you, Crowley.”

“Exactly. And this musician takes a more modern approach to pianos! Plays the piano while singing with more rock ‘n’ roll flair. Maybe we could give it a listen at some point?” 

 

“What? Did you fall down from heaven again and hit your head this time?”

 

“Well that is just rude,” Crowley said with a stern frown. “I just wanted to share something with you.”

 

Aziraphale sighed and nodded with his back still to Crowley. The demon wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

 

“It just, we haven’t been fully us and I wanted to start rebuilding that,” the demon started again, “I don’t know, somehow. So I figured we could grab some food and go listen to some music. Or perhaps even go to a concert, for I know you love live events.”

 

“Crowley. I haven’t seen you now in years. You can’t just decide to appear and want my time.”

 

“But we used to do this stuff all the time.”

 

“Before I owned a business. Before I got you something I shouldn’t have. I mean, what if someone catches on?”

 

Crowley took a step forward and reached out shakily before letting his hand fall as he spoke, “That should have died down.”

 

“Then take more time to prove to me we are worth rebuilding without sacrificing ourselves,” the angel turned with a steely look in his eyes. “But I don’t know if you can. That is how demons operate. Sacrifice of something.”

 

“All of the times we were there for one another, though, what did that account for?”

 

“That is yet to be determined.”   
  


“I won’t bring up music again, or taking you out, or anything. Can we just have tea? You can tell me how the shop is going. What you like to do with it and such,” Crowley said, fighting with himself to not plead. 

 

Then, as if a switch flipped, Aziraphale turned to him and smiled. “I’d quite like that.”

 

With that they went to the kitchen and finished preparing tea. Aziraphale sad that Crowley had not found the music he helped inspire Reginald Dwight to write and Crowley disappointed that Aziraphale would not even give it a listen. Beethoven's symphony moved on in the background, neither of them quite content with it.

 

Sometimes, ineffable is just plain shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have something to tie the last chapter up before moving on to Aziraphale's song. I have a few narrowed down. It is amazing how many are in the 90s though, so we may be moving there.


	3. Run, run, run, run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you start a chapter writing imaging Cher

Aziraphale decided to go and check in on the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. It was such a good thing that the humans had come to the conclusion of doing. He walked through the various crowds of people who were doing various parts of demolition until he started to hear music.

_‘I’m alone in my head_

_And looking for love in this stranger's bed_

_But I don’t think I’ll find it_

_Cause only you can fill the empty spaces’_

Maybe this rock music Crowley was always listening to could actually make a point. And wait, was this live? It certainly seemed like it was. There was a gravel in it that made the angel well up and the competing vibrations of the bass and the hammers made his feet tingle.

_‘ I've been drinking_

_I've been doin' things I shouldn't do_

_Overthinkin'_

_I don't know who I am without you_

_I'm a liar and a cheat_

_I let my ego swallow me_

_And that's why I might never see you again’_

Well, this was certainly a rather romantic rock song. He paused at the edge of the crowd gathered around the makeshift stage and let the words run through him allowing his eyes to drift close  and the energy to take him away. Except it was Crowley talking them to him. Why was Crowley’s voice there and why did Aziraphale care?

“How could I make you love me?” he then felt whispered against his ear. His eyes poped open and he spun around, coming face to face with a sunglasses clad, long brushed out red haired man.

“Crowley! What? Why?”

“Ehh, putting on a concert about tearing down walls seemed like a good way to piss somebody off,” he said flippantly, “You?”

“I was hoping to calm some people, but they all seem rather jubilant, no thanks to you.”

“Good music does that.”

“I don’t know if it is good, but it is poignant. Definitely something a demon would enjoy,” he sputtered out, trying to hide his blush, “all this talk of romancing and bed.”

“Ahhh, you’ve never wished…”

“No, not at all!”

“Well, then, angel, I’ll be off. I’m glad we’ve seen each other more frequently and you haven’t been too mad with me. I hope you enjoy the music and come find me when you do wish.”

Crowley turned and waved  and started to walk away. Beethoven’s Symphony 14 entered Aziraphale’s mind. And if he stripped the music out of the next song the band, whatever no names Crowley happened to summon, were performing now, he could almost marry them together.

_‘I am just a new boy_

_Stranger in this town_

_Where are all the good times?_

_Who's gonna show this stranger around?’_

He began to jog. He needed Crowley. He didn’t understand how, he just knew he did. What level that need was, he didn't’ know. Crowley had done the right thing. He began to come back into Aziraphale’s life slowly, not do anything drastic or untoward. Then, he was doing something, well, maybe it be considered grey, but that grey area was always Crowley. That was why Aziraphale needed him.

_‘Will some woman in this desert land_

_Make me feel like a real man?_

_Take this rock and roll refugee_

_Ooh, baby set me free’_

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed at Crowley. It was enough to get the demon to stop and turn, which was not what the angel had expected. So instead of what should be a graceful event (because all creatures that were ethereal should be graceful, correct?) it would up as bit of a mess.

Aziraphale tumbled, hitting Crowley, who then fell backwards, but had no real care for his own personal well being, reached out with his other hand to steady his angel (as he had come to think over the past few years) while his legs splayed out as to not knee him in the chest. Aziraphale tucked into himself and against the demon, for the first time appreciating how many layers they both wore even on the hottest of days.

“Angel, all you had to do was shout for me.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt the experience for the concert goers,” he replied, head still tucked and showing no sign of movement.

“Well, then it is a good thing I have us camouflaged.”

The blonde haired man let out a long breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never, angel, not if I can help it,” there was a shift of his arms and a tighter squeeze, “You know, this band has a song about that too.”

Aziraphale finally picked his head up, understanding that Crowley was giving him and out, a way to break away and be normal if he needed it. He supposed they shouldn’t sit together to long like that in case they were sensed by, well, one way or another, but it found the slowly dissipating touch upsetting.

“Well why wouldn’t they? They seem to just string random words together until it fits the music.”

“Oh please, Aziraphale, it is no different than you poets and writers trying to hit marks tempo or predetermined meaning.”

“It is totally different, demon,” Crowley smiled, excited to see Aziraphale excitedly talking while listening to Pink Floyd in the background as if they were actually at a concert, “take Voltaire for example…”

“That old coote?”

“Why I!”

“Why don’t we go get you some nice chocolates while we are here, Aziraphale?” Crowley said quickly.

“Oh, that sounds lovely. And we are inputting things into their economy naturally which I’m sure will be a mess for a while. Oh, I wonder what their book situation is like!”

And with that Aziraphale clasped his hands together and Crowley stuck his in his pockets, both afraid of grabbing the other and wandering the streets on this crisp November day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you end with the fall of the Berlin Wall and Pink Floyd concert


	4. A Terrible Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale actually has an interesting customer and hears some stimulating beebop

It was a rather warm day in late August and Aziraphale sat at his desk with an open book and a content smile on his face. The day before had been a lovely stroll in the park with Crowley but now it was back to work so to speak. For the angel, the 90s so far were shaping up to be quiet. All he had to do was once in a while to balance out the chaos caused by the demon in such a way that came out in the positive and all was good. 

Mind you, it was only 1994, which left plenty of time for things to go pear shaped. Which is unfortunate since pears were so enjoyable and he would rather not have a negative connotation associated with them. Aziraphale sighed, it couldn’t be terrible, he got to see the demon regularly now, but not too regularly to raise suspicions, they talked about things other than the weather or their respective side. It was almost like a friendship. 

Was friendship supposed to make you so warm? Maybe it was the weather. 

Suddenly the bell rang and Aziraphale snapped around, suddenly realizing he wasn’t even really reading the book, which is unfortunate, since he had apparently been flipping pages and now had no idea where he had been. 

Made even worse was the fact that the patron was listening to loud music from their...oh what was it that Crowley called those things? Casket players? Man walkers? He was never good with this new fangled technology, it was coming all so quickly this century. 

He pushed out from his desk and walked over to the young woman with a smile regardless, “How may I help you today?”

“Oh, nothing in particular, I’m just a student on leave and love finding these shops. So much good stuff in them, ya know?”

The angel was taken back, both by the woman’s upfront attitude, her interest in books, and the turn from history and book interest to the, rap music coming from the headset around her neck. 

“Well, as a matter of fact I understand completely! I started this shop because of my love for old books and need to collect them,” he beamed. 

_ ‘Don't go chasing waterfalls _

_ Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to _

_ I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all _

_ But I think you're moving too fast’ _

Aziraphale’s face fell, “My dear, what are you listening to?”

“New TLC song! Its called Waterfalls, it is beautiful. Very poetic, if poetry is your thing, but still relevant.”

“Do you happen to have the lyrics? I’d like to copy them.”

The woman nodded and swung her bag off her shoulders and on to the ground with a light thud. She unbuckled it and flipped open the cover to a pile of books about archival work, research techniques, and treatment of loose materials.

“My dear girl, what are you in university for?”

“Ah! Library and archival studies,” she said while shifting through her bag. “Found it!” She pulled out the Casket case (for Aziraphale was certain that was the name of it) and opened it up to pull out the cover. As it unfolded, Aziraphale thought it looked quite like a map, but to what he wasn’t to what. 

“Here they are,” she said, pointing to some very small print on the paper on the ground. He got down on the ground with her and looked at the paper, reading through the lyrics carefully. 

“It won’t take me long,” he says quietly, “feel free to browse around, stuff towards the back is older, so do just make a note of the title and I’ll help you with it if you want a peek.”

“Really? That is great, yeah, take your time,” she says, perhaps a little confused by this odd man, but mostly just really excited to walk around looking at old books. 

Aziraphale grabbed a pad of paper and returned to the floor and his map to, whatever it was to. He quickly scribbles it down, being sure to maintain the stanzas, for while he doesn’t have any enjoyment of the music behind it, but the words were really quite well organized and thought out to tell a story of some kind. 

“Do you happen to know the time?”

Aziraphale jumps a bit and looks up, forgetting there was someone else here, “Oh, why yes, it is 12:15.”

“Shit, my mum is expecting me. I love your store sir, and I hope you got what you were looking for, I’ll come back and look more in depth,” she said, crouching down and folding the insert back up and placing it back into its case. 

“Oh well, do come back,” he waved, for a change at least half sincere. 

However, he stayed on the floor, still kind of mulling over the lyrics in his mind. It was like five years ago, but at the same time, not at all. This was less direct. No feeling of warmth, no feeling of drowning. Just this strange feeling of guilt. 

_ ‘ _ _ Little precious has a natural obsession for temptation _

_ But he just can't see _

_ She give him loving that his body can't handle _

_ But all he can say is, "Baby, it's good to me"’ _

Was he being horrible to Crowley? He had to admit that he loved everything the demon provided to him. The excitement, the contentment, the companionship, the balance. Anytime Crowley tried something more, even if Aziraphale wanted it, he just repeatedly shut it down. And wasn’t he lying to himself? It wasn’t good. There was something missing. But they couldn’t move forward. 

If they could, they’d both still be angels. 

That much would be certain. Ineffable. 

Right?

He sort of slumped over a bit uncharacteristically a bit defeated and feeling a surge of sadness. 

“Angel!” came the ring of the bell, snapping Aziraphale back up, snapping his pad cover closed, “Angel, why are you on the floor?”

“Oh there was a customer, and, well,” he stuttered about for a few moments.

“All I’m gathering is you scared them away?” Crowley stuck his hand out to his friend, who took it with a shallow smile. “What’s wrong? Were they really pushing for something?”

“Oh no, they were quite lovely. Studying to become an archivist actually. Just, remembering, really,” the angel said, bustling over to his desk, using the time to try and reset his demeanor. 

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a walk? I know we had done that earlier this week, but there is always a different park and I heard from someone in my building that there is a crepe cart.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as he turned. “You remember?”

“Of course I remember. Who would forget?”

“I just don’t know of any other demon who would,” Aziraphale said. What he wanted to say was, I don’t deserve you, please just do something wrong. 

“Well, we already determined I have a sense of fashion, too, which seems to be unique to angels and demons,” he said snarkily, holding the door open. 

“I do suppose,” Aziraphale says with a smile, trying to put the negativity off to the side, being easier to do with the thought of crepes, as he flips the sign from open to close and walks out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When TLC's Waterfalls hits you, you use TLC's Waterfalls, dammit all!


	5. Lucky Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is going out to cause trouble and picked up some new music for the ride.

Crowley slid into the Bentley after some splurging, for a demon did not simply shop. He bought one new album, by Oasis, and then stole three others. He reached into the back and pulled out a random cassette for the drive to Cambridge. One of the best things was going up to the fancy to do university during finals and mess up students. 

He unwrapped the cassette and threw it in as he pulled away from the curb and into traffic. The singer began to drone on about symphonies and life and nonsense.

_ Well I never pray, _

_ But tonight I'm on my knees, yeah. _

_ I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah. _

_ I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now. _

_ But the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now. _

He narrowed his eyes at the radio as he dodged some oncoming traffic while he disregarded a red light. Shut up stupid songs. He had wanted something different to listen to for a bit while driving, but didn’t want patronizing. Hopefully this would be the only thing. 

Although, he hadn’t seen Aziraphale in a few weeks really. Crowley had been afraid that his presence might bring too much attention to the angel by head offices and such. So instead he had this bogged down mind to deal with. Every time he got to visit Az he would leave with a far clearer mind then he started with. 

He pulled onto the A12 and moved around various bits of traffic, cursing when he ran into bits of construction, revving the engine for no reason other than to make others hear it. 

_ My forgotten schemes  _

_ I see through you  _

_ You see through me  _

_ I see through you _

_ You see through me  _

_ Be with me  _

_ Be with me  _

_ I see through you _

He glanced at the radio again as he hit the gas pedal getting through the construction and hitting some more open road. What was it with this album? His angel flashed in his mind again. Then the realization that he hadn’t thought of Aziraphale as his angel in a few months. He had fixed that problem. But apparently whatever this was was bringing it back. He imagined the smile that his angel gave him when he couldn’t curse appropriately  or when he gave his food to the ducks at the park. He thought of how he could always sense when his angel was about to walk into danger and how he always needed to save him, how losing him to discorporation and knowing that he wasn’t around would be the worst thing imaginable. 

Lost in his thoughts, hands trembling on the steering wheel, he almost clipped a motorbike, but whatever, it wasn’t his concern. He sped up, now just running away from London instead. Maybe he wouldn’t go back. 

He turned far sharper than he needed to for the A406. He felt jittery and on edge. He should pop this album out but he was also compelled to listen to it. If blood pressure really mattered to him, he would be in a bad spot. 

_ There'll be no better time _

_ There'll be no better way _

_ There'll be no better day to save me _

_ Save me _

_ Yeah, save me _

Crowley reached down onto the seat and grabbed the cassette case. The Verve? Where the hell...Why the fuck did he grab this? Ugh, Crowley didn’t need saving, there was no saving. He threw the case on the floor, dooming it to Queen fate. 

_ I hope you see like I see _

_ I hope you see what I see _

_ I hope you feel like I feel _

He reached forward to pop the cassette out.

_ And the world don't stop _

_ There is no time for cracking up _

_ Believe me friend _

_ 'Cause when freedom comes _

_ I'll be long gone _

_ You know it has to end _

“FUCK,” he slammed the steering wheel. Freedom, what freedom? Demons didn’t get freedom, neither did angels. Humans were free. They were in chains. 

He turned onto the M11 and threw his head back in a groan. He needed to go see him apparently. At least all this self despair should be seeping out to the other drivers, right? Maybe he could report it some how. 

_ Happiness _

_ Coming and going _

_ I watch you look at me _

_ Watch my fever growing _

_ I know just where I am _

_ But how many corners do I have to turn? _

_ How many times do I have to learn _

_ All the love I have is in my mind? _

Crowley slammed on the breaks, M11 be damned. He snapped his fingers and moved his car at least to the shoulder, allowing for one fender bender that didn’t include his precious Bentley. 

But seriously, fuck these Verve guys. How dare they, he would have to find them and cause some discord or something. He asked himself these questions on the regular, how much all of the love he had was just a figment of his imagination, if he should just move around and give lots of space. 

_ Well, I'm a lucky man _

_ With fire in my hands _

He didn’t feel lucky, but he felt eternally on fire. Like if he reached out and touched Aziraphale, his body would ignite. And if anyone ever dared hurt his angel, well he would also be on fire.

_ Happiness _

_ Something in my own place _

_ I'm stood here naked _

_ Smiling, I feel no disgrace _

_ With who I am _

But he did feel disgrace. Sure, Anthony J. Crowley put on a lot of bravado, but Crawley? Why else would he change his name? He hated his curious nature because it caused him to fall. If he hadn’t fallen, maybe Aziraphale would be easier to handle. Or maybe if Aziraphale could fall. Either way, Crowley was only marginally less terrible than Crawley, and probably only because at this point he had some tears streaming quietly down his face as he regretted his 6000 year old life and the inability to move forward with love. 

_ I hope you understand _

_ I hope you understand _

_ Oh, no no no no no no no no no _

_ Gotta love that'll never die _

It never would die. He would love that angel until Armageddon and then during and after, regardless of its outcome. If forced to fight his angel, he would lay down his weapon and offer his life so that his angel would be praised. All to get his angel to see his love.

The demon sobbed and slumped against the steering wheel. If the 1800s were boring, the 1900s have been heart wrenching. And he was over it. He whispered Aziraphale’s name over and over as the song continued. 

_ Gotta love that'll never dies _

_ Gotta love that'll never died _

_ No, no _

_ I'm a lucky man _

Was he a lucky demon for knowing love? Maybe, perhaps it was part of the ineffable plan Aziraphale was always ranting about. He didn’t understand how that could be, but who knows honestly. 

At this point, he just felt like complete and utter shit. He peeled out from the shoulder and turned around, making an illegal turn to get off the motorway and return to head back towards London. There would be other days to mess with college students, the demon thought, but for today, he should pull himself together and maybe admit to his friend that he was actual his love. 

Probably not, but one could think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Various lyrics grabbed from The Verve's album 'Ubran Hymns' including, Bittersweet Symphony, Catching the Butterfly, Weeping Willow, and the main song, Lucky Man. I had a lot of fun with this, and this puts us in the mid-90s. I think the late 90s will get interesting.


	6. It's All Been Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley convinces Aziraphale there is a lot of good to be done at Glastonbury 1999. Aziraphale then proceeds to make some revelations that were not anticipated, but not maintained either.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley pleaded, “it will be great. Music festivals are filled with peace and love, so you can do your thing and there is always someone needing a little extra tempt for something, so I can do my thing. We fill all the quotas for the next six months in one day.”

They were sitting at the Ritz rather than walking. Crowley was in slightly more relaxed jeans, ones more fitting 1999 than we may be accustomed to seeing him in now, a fitted grey t-shirt and black jacket over it. For some reason, he didn’t take off the black leather fingerless gloves despite drinking only the best bottle of red wine in stock.  His foot was resting on his knee as he leaned back, brand new looking black Doctor Marten boot drifting back and forth with music. His red hair was down to his ear and wild, but in a manner that suggested he told it to be so.

“Crowley, you know I don’t like that music,” his companion bemoaned, dressed in a far more outdated fashion with whites and creams, touches of blue in his tie. The overcoat and vest were impeccably kept and just a shade or two off from one another so that they blended seamlessly. 

“That is the thing! It isn’t just that music,” Crowley said with sarcasm, “Glastonbury has a bit of everything, Aziraphale. The have acoustic sets, and theater and…”

“I do enjoy theater,” the blonde haired man said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could make the next Hamlet.”

He looked at Crowley with a knowing and kind smile while picking up a piece of cake daintily with his fork. 

“Sure, whatever, just pick something better this time.”

A month later the two packed up the Bentley, Crowley dressed much the same as he was at the Ritz, but with a pair of more comfortable and easily discardable trainers for walking. The demon sent Aziraphale back three or four times to reduce the number of clothes until he came out in a far more complimentary outfit for mucking about in a field of people. 

Now, Crowley normally like how Aziraphale looked. Honestly, it quite suited him to be dressed up and formal, just meant he fit in with his books. But to come out in a pair of stonewashed and boot cut jeans, what could have been a band T-shirt if there were any bands with books and wings on them, and a tartan patterned button up long sleeve was such a nice change of pace it was simply divine. At first, his eyes felt stuck, then he knew he looked away too quickly. 

“Is something wrong still?”

“No, that will do, a bit too white for my tastes,” he spoke, straining to keep his voice even.   
  
“It just means we can find each other easier,” Aziraphale said with an infliction that Crowley knew, just absolutely knew even without looking, meant he was smiling. 

“Yup, seems good. Lets pile in then.”

The ride from Soho to the festival site was supposed to be 3 hours, but this is Crowley, so 2 hours seemed fine. It was still filled with chatter about how tickets went towards helping such good and kind organizations like Greenpeace and Water Aid and how Crowley must not have known or he would not have suggested it. The demon sat there, knuckles white on the steering wheel, both wanting to yell that he did know and thought the angel would like the good it was doing and fighting to not look at this suddenly more modern looking individual that was sitting next to him. 

Crowley did have the foresight to park away from the event proper and just sort of appear them to the festival site itself. No sense in walking more than needed, right?

“Oh, my dear boy, you were right! There is so much happiness here!” Aziraphale said to him over the swell of people. 

“Fuck,” was all Crowley could said, looking away from the radiance that was a happy angel. This was either the best idea or the worst idea ever. 

“I’m going to go and explore,” he said, walking away, “I’ll find you in a bit.”

“Angel!” Crowley yelled after him, but too little too late. The demon couldn’t be honest. No, that wasn’t what demons did. Had to come up with a story of doing things and hitting quotas. He looked around and saw a couple canoodling as they walked. Behind his sunglasses he rolled his eyes hard, making them slip and fall, hoping to cause some discord. Instead, there was just a chorus of laughter. 

The demon stalked off to the main stages, hoping to drown his thoughts out in the sound of music instead. Maybe tear a few of these couples apart instead of the other temptations he had planned.

A few hours later, the demon feels someone tap him on the shoulder, “Whut?”

“Oh, sorry, not sure if you are a Crowley? Bloody weird name dude, should get that fixed,” a random man, or really boy in the scope of things, said with this perfectly cut hair and brightly colored outfit. “Anyway, if you are, we have your friend, Az.”

“Why? What do you want with him?” he said, grabbing the boy’s collar.

“Chill dude. He is high out of his mind, I left a friend of mine with him and he asked me to find the tall fellow with red hair and sunglasses on to come get him. We were enjoying a blunt, but dude must be a newbie,” boy said as Crowley loosened his grip.

That beautiful dolt. Only he would take marijuanna, decide that he liked the feeling, and keep going until he didn’t know how to stop. How does an ethereal being get high anyway?

“He also busted out a bottle of wine somehow. Like, fuck man, it is hard enough to get weed in here, dude has balls,” boy said, turning and beckoning Crowley forward. 

Crowley blushed. Did he? He suddenly realized he wasn’t sure, “Um, yeah, real animal that Az.”

They bobbed and weaved through the crowd, Crowley a bit panicked at the thought of the angel being sick or hurting. Instead he found the angel draped over some tall dark and handsome fellow that actually reminded Crowley of himself. 

“Ahem!”

“Oh! J! Love! I’ve missed you,” Aziraphale said, warmly slurring his words. He peeled away from the Crowley impersonator and immediately attached to Crowley himself. 

“I’ve got him. Thank-you for taking care of him. How much did he smoke?” 

“One whole blunt, drank a bottle and a half of wine from somewhere, plus was trying to get at some mushrooms from the group next door, but tried to get him away,” his doppleganger said. Oh great, weed and shrooms. Hopefully not, but good information.

Crowley reached into the pocket of his coat and miracled up a replacement for the group. “Sorry, he is normally a lightweight.”

“Not a problem. He was quoting Shakespear at us with amazing accuracy the whole time, which was great!” boy chimed in, stepping closer to his doppleganger and giving him a peck on the check. 

_ To hell with you god, and showing me what we could be if we were mortal right now _ , Crowley screamed in his mind as he looked down at his angel. 

“Right, well, enjoy.”

“Crowley, can we find a nice spot to lay and listen to the bebop?”

“Of course, angel.”

He found a lovely spot near the pyramid stage so they could hear while not being in the midst of the crowd and miracled a blanket to lay on. 

_ I met you before the fall of Rome _

_ And I begged you to let me take you home _

_ You were wrong, I was right _

_ You said goodbye, I said goodnight _

“Crowley, you didn’t have to summon music too,” Aziraphale said giggling, taking off his tartan patterned button up.  He got down onto the blanket in a less than graceful action, but was perfectly happy nonetheless. 

“I think they are just the next band, angel.”

_ It's all been done _

_ It's all been done _

_ It's all been done before _

_ I knew you before the west was won _

_ And I heard you say the past _

_ Was much more fun _

_ You go your way, I go mine _

_ But I'll see you next time _

“Love, could we do the things we haven’t done before?”

Love. He said it again. That was new, but Crowley had no idea what this angel was on about now. 

“Aziraphale, we’ve seen the birth of humanity, the destruction of much of it over and over again, the building of a wall in China, the fall of a wall in Berli-ngh,” and suddenly it stopped. Aziraphale was in his lap, lips on his. 

_ If I put my fingers here, and if I say _

_ "I love you, dear" _

Aziraphale had a hand placed flat against the demon’s lithe chest. Crowley took a thin finger and traced his jaw line as a way to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. It wasn’t graceful or practiced, but it was electric and Aziraphale’s lips tasted of sin in a way no human would ever experience. 

_ And if I play the same three chords _

_ Will you just yawn and say _

Their hands roamed cautiously, like they were back in the BC era. Crowley asked for more, licking his angel’s lips tentatively with his tongue and getting a small bit hesitantly back. Even high and free, Aziraphale was bashful and Crowley wanted nothing more than to experience each buckle come undone. 

_ It's all been done _

_ It's all been done _

_ It's all been done before _

“WOOOO, GET IT!” some festival goers said as they walked by, making the two snap apart, like being caught by the nuns at school. Worse, God probably did see, Crowley though. 

“Studid song,” Aziraphale slur-sighed, “It quite obviously has not all been done.”

“Angel?”

“Well, we only just did that nearly 6000 years later, so there must be more.”

Crowley blinked, disbelief washing over him. Did Aziraphale just insinuate? No. Not even Crowley had even thought of, he was just happy, really just wanted to, well, he suppose he could if the angel wanted. Anything to keep him. He was certainly attracted to him, just hadn’t really ever, well, thought about it. That was something for others or for people to chase after him with, not for someone to dangle at him and possible for him to chase. Fuck. He was not prepared. He didn’t even know after 6000 years what his own body wanted, just that he, personally, emotionally, spiritually, whateverly wanted to spend it with the angel. 

Oh thank Satan a tempo change. 

_ It's been one week since you looked at me _

_ Cocked your head to the side _

_ and said I'm angry _

_ Five days since you laughed at me saying _

_ Get that together come back and see me _

“Angel, why don’t we wait to discuss that until you sober up?”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Yup, can’t sober up. Can’t do anything, just feel like floating. Actually feels bloody fucking fantastic.”

Crowley’s sunglasses slid down his nose as he heard the curse come out. This wasn’t his angel, but it was. This whole other side was just as endearing and lovely and dear god, no, satan, no, dear them if he could keep Aziraphale on this blanket like this forever and just keep learning all this for the next 6000 years he would.

“Then why don’t we just sit here and listen to the music.”

“Can I lay on you?”

_ How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad _

_ Trying hard not to smile though I feel bad _

_ I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral _

_ Can't understand what I mean? _

_ Well, you soon will _

_ I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve _

_ I have a history of taking off my shirt _

“Now, why would you want to do that? I’m cold, and pointy, and such,” he said with a laugh, hoping to cover up the rising heat. 

“Because if I’m on you, you won’t leave me.”

He was royally screwed. He didn’t even trust himself to speak, so he just mechanically moved to a better position. 

“Yay!” Aziraphale squealed in delight before laying on his back and putting his head on Crowley’s lap. His blue eyes bore into the sunglasses on Crowley’s face and all the demon could hope was that he couldn’t make sense of why his pupils were blown wide. 

“Is...is this good?” he asks tentatively, not wanting to show care, but also wanting to research. 

“This is perfect. I’ve dreamed of this since the blitz.”

“Of this?”

“Well, obviously not exactly this, but touching you,” Aziraphale yawned. He extended an arm up and touched Crowley’s face.  “I’m so happy those nice men told me that I should just buck up and tell my man how I felt.”

“Oh, they did,” another blunt delivery was in order. 

“Yes,” yawn, “and that I should be more confident because I’m a perfectly fetching fellow and if you didn’t appreciate it I could find just about any man here.”

“They did,” he gritted, changing his mind to maybe lighting their camp on fire. Crowley lifted his own hand and started to pet the angel’s curly hair.

“But,” eyes drifted, “now you know, love.”

“Yes, I do,” Crowley whispered as for the first time he watched his friend fall asleep.  Was friend the right word? Something to work out when he woke up. For now, he just enjoyed petting Aziraphale and watching his features in absolute bliss.

_ I think it's getting to the point _

_ Where I can be myself again _

_ I think it's getting to the point _

_ Where we have almost made amends _

_ I think it's the getting to the point _

_ That is the hardest part _

It had been a long time since the 1800s, but in all honesty, the 1900s had been the time when his love for Aziraphale had grown the most. Now, in 1999 he learned that love was indeed reciprocated. They could be themselves, above and below be damned. As long as they did their jobs, what did it really matter right?

_ You think I only think about you _

_ When we're both in the same room _

_ You think I'm only here to witness _

_ The remains of love exhumed _

_ You think we're here to play _

_ A game of who loves more than whom  _

Oh dear, no, Crowley very seldom didn’t think about Aziraphale. In fact, the moments where the angel wasn’t in his thoughts were found to be the most disturbing.  But the thought of getting to play a game of who loves who more, like a young courting couple, like back in Rome, was adorable. Getting each other random gifts that could be increasingly stranger from the last. Crowley could teach Aziraphale about plants and maybe Aziraphale could read to him. 

“How long was I out for, my dear boy?”

Crowley looked down and blinked. Please no. Don’t do this. 

“‘Bout 15 minutes, I suppose,” he said, looking back up, ready to hide tears as Aziraphale vacated his lap. 

“Wow. That was oddly refreshing. I see why you enjoy nap. I hope I wasn’t too off putting.”

“Off putting? Angel, do you remember anything?”

“No, my dear boy, can’t say that I do, so I’m happy I woke up to you.”

“Got it. I’m gonna, uhh, go walk,” he pushed up from the ground at the same time he pushed down a lump in his throat. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“Oh. Okay,” Aziraphale said, watching as the demon strutted off. 

_ You think it's only fair to do what's best for _

_ You and you alone _

_ You think it's only fair to do the same to me _

_ When you're not home _

_ I think it's time to make this something that is _

_ More than only fair _

Stupid angel. How could he be so stupid. Crowley beat himself up and kicked up dirt as he walked. He snapped his fingers and spilled people’s drinks, ruined people’s food, made lovers nip each other instead of kiss. Anything to get rid of this pain. 

When would the angel do something for himself? When would Crowley say something honest? Why were their nature’s so fucking engrained?

Love. My dear boy. 

Well, now the switch was understood. 

_ So if you call, I will answer _

_ And if you fall, I'll pick you up _

_ And if you court this disaster _

_ I'll point you home _

Aziraphale had picked him up after the fall. Why didn’t he realize that Crowley would do the same if it were to happen? The angel rarely even called for him to show up and come save his ass, he thought as he circled back around, so why did it need to be this big song and dance?

Then he saw the angel sitting on the blanket. Home. Aziraphale was his home. He walked up. 

“Do you feel as though you’ve done your good for the day?”

“Yes, quite, and got good out of it, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. I feel warm and like I’ve been revitalized.”

“I’m glad you got something out of it, angel.”

“Oh, good, I thought you were angry with me, Crowley,” he said, the relief clear on his face. 

“Never, angel. Now let me get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barenaked Ladies preformed at Glastonbury 1999 and Stunt is one of my favorite albums of all time, so Its All Been Done, One Week, and Call and Answer were all preformed there, and also in the general appearance of the song to my understanding. I had a lot of fun with this chapter and dressing Aziraphale up.


	7. Don't Look At Me That Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to go out and forget about the previous night with Aziraphale in the mid 2000s, but instead, does just the opposite. Somewhere else in London, Aziraphale regrets some life decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one made me hurt more than the last one and I'm sorry.

  1. Crowley had begun to go to these bars and clubs on evenings when he didn’t have much to do and typically the evening after he had seen Aziraphale. They were loud, they were crass, they were filled with a lot of human bodies and thrumming music. 



In other words, great place to cause just enough trouble to fill a report, but not so much that he would feel terrible the next time he spoke to the angel. 

Blaring now was, as typical, some group that had an edgy name that a demon should be proud of (“This new The Killers album is amazing!” he was sure a girl said”) but with messages that would probably make Aziraphale very goey (“He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus//but more than you’ll ever know”). Wait, scratch that last thought. That was definitely about sex, not the son of God. 

He continued to move through the crowd and make people’s doubts manifest. Never anything untoward, Crowley had standards and rules. Just things like questioning if it was worth being on this date or if it was really worth a relationship, no matter which way that question was headed. Maybe a fight or two that quickly got pushed out. Then, eventually just a roll of the eyes that opened up a stool in the corner of the bar. 

“Give me whatever you have that is strong,” he said when he got the bartenders attention. And repeated for the next hour, shamelessly flirting with whoever continued to also buy him that strong stuff as well. He ever played with those people though. He would drink with them, talk with them, wait for their attention to wane or buy them a drink, but never flirt. Not since he partied like it was 1999 in that lovely summer. 

He tried to push back from the bar but gave up, his legs instead deciding they were enjoying the memory of the angel’s head in his lap, his hand deciding that the sweating glass was just enough to use in place of curls under his thumb. 

Yup, too much to drink.

Then, a pounding drum kicked in that broke him from his memories and back to where he was. Which was full of raucous 20-somethings with little life experience. Comparatively. As the guitar kicked in he left some amount of money on the bar and pushed back, wanting to move and absorb the sudden burst of...well all of these various things people were giving off. 

Dejection.

Isolation.

Abandonment. 

Insecurity.

_ People _

_ They don’t mean a thing to you _

_ They move right through you _

_ Just like your breath _

_ But sometimes _

_ I still think of you _ __

At this point, Crowley was getting accustomed to these songs interrupting things now, but this was the first time he had images. Images of him here, dancing and bumping into people, people that should be Aziraphale, despite him knowing that the angel was sitting at his shop reading. Knowing the angel was alone, probably with some coco or tea, maybe a glass of wine. 

See, Aziraphale valued humans as a whole, not as individuals. The exception was if that individuals was giving something of great value to humanity, which the angel felt ended pretty much at the start of the 20th century. Crowley, however, valued them as individuals. Each other them had the capacity to be brilliant apart, but it was when they came together they were terrible. 

_ And I just wanted to _

_ Just wanted you to know _

_ My old friend... _

_ I swear I never meant for this _

_ I never meant… _

Crowley kept moving his body, but he felt like he was in slow motion. He never meant to fall. Not from heaven. Not in love. Not into fear. Yet, here the demon was, letting some crooner confess his actualizations. 

_ Don't look at me that way _

_ It was an honest mistake _

_ Don't look at me that way _

_ It was an honest mistake _

_ An honest mistake _

There are no honest mistakes as a demon. However there could be naive ones. And Crowley had been trying to avoid Aziraphale’s looks forever. From the time he pulled up for the first time in Bently to the time he saved the books. His favorite time in Paris or his least favorite time at the park. Each time the demon wanted to say these words to his friend, ‘Please, don’t look at me so, I made a mistake, I’ll try better next time.’

He never said them. He always tried better. 

_ Sometimes _

_ I forget I'm still awake _

_ I fuck up and say these things out loud _

He started to push through the crowd. It was starting to suffocate him. He felt sick. Not from the alcohol. Unless the alcohol was bringing on the Aziraphale hallucinations. It wasn’t that good of alcohol. 

“Please Aziraphale, again,” he whispered, as he reached the edge. 

“I can certainly be Aziraphale for a fit bloke like you,” he heard a woman’s voice say to him. 

As he looked over though, he just saw the angel’s smiling face. There was no damn way he was that plastered. He pushed past her and got out of the club. He put his hands on his knees and took a deep, functionally unnecessary breath to get his head a bit clearer. This was not going to be a good eternity if he was going to have to deal with this every time he had to do his job. 

 

**Meanwhile, in a bookstore in Soho...**

_ My old friend... _

_ I swear I never meant for this _

_ I never meant... _

_ Don't look at me that way _

_ It was an honest mistake _

_ Don't look at me that way _

_ It was an honest mistake _

_ An honest mistake _

Aziraphale was reading one of his treasured Wilde’s. He wished he could instead be having a second night with Crowley, but they knew it was bad for them to be together two nights in a row. However, the want was still there. Since 1999. When he acted like he didn’t remember, which was an honest mistake. Aziraphale wished he could tell Crowley he never meant for this to happen like it had, but too little to late, they would just exist as they had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Honest Mistake-The Bravery is probably one of my favorite songs from this time period, so when I stumbled into it I had to use it. Please tell me your feels, or even share what song you would have used from this time frame. Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs was also on my list.


	8. What Have I Done to Deserve this Bad Romance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mrs.Dowling, Aziraphale realized just how screwed he is. Crowley randomly showing up is not particularly helpful, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated! Also, I'm taking drabble requests of just about anything GO related through my tumblr at etienne-rune.tumblr.com

Aziraphale had been working for the Dowling’s home for a few years now undercover. As Brother Francis he was mostly just considered the unusual man who kept the garden tidy and for some reason ensured the bugs were all quite happy. As Warlock began to toddle about and Mrs. Dowling moved more and more of his activities outside, he also learned more about modern music than he cared to admit. 

One thing he learned is that many of the singers of today had beautiful voices but seemed to cover them up with unfortunate instrument choices or technology to aid them. Really all they needed was a good piano, why didn’t they just see that?

Today was one such day, as he somewhat looked after a babbling three year old Warlock and Mrs. Dowling rolled out some sort of exercise mat onto the grass. She also brought out her, oh what was it that Crowley always called it, a uPod? Yes, uPod, and the speaker. 

He began to talk to Warlock and work through how to take care of plants nicely, and no, we don’t step purposely on worms when the infernal music started up. Something oh a whole bunch. And being caught in a bad romance. 

How could romance possibly be bad? Love was good, feeling love was supposed to be a good thing for all of the Almighty’s creatures. He said so much to Warlock at that instant, insisting that his parents loved him. 

_ I want your ugly _

_ I want your disease _

_ I want your everything _

_ As long as it's free _

_ I want your love _

_ Love-love-love _

_ I want your love _

Well, this young woman seemed quite desperate. Love should of course be free. At the same time, good on her for being willing to take these bad things. Goodness knows that even in today’s rather open world Aziraphale had seen enough people not open to bad items about others. 

Even the Dowlings seemed to not quite love without reservation. Mr. Dowling seemed to only have affection for his wife and son when if suited his goals. Mrs. Dowling mostly was interested in making sure Warlock was being brought up to fit his father’s ideals. Their love was an exchange of sorts. 

_ I want your drama _

_ The touch of your hand _

_ I want your leather studded kiss in the sand _

_ I want your love _

 

_ You know that I want you _

_ And you know that I need you _

_ I want it bad _

_ Your bad romance _

Oh, so it was not as if it was a bad romance, as much as being need badly. This young woman was quite clever with her words. The only thing she wanted in exchange was these things that came in association with human romance? Well why not? 

He had to explain to Warlock not to tear apart some tulips and tried to use love as a metaphor. Just about midway through his explanation about how flowers show how much they love the world by blooming, Nanny Ashtoreth came by. Aziraphale couldn’t wait until they could be done with these disguises and he could have Crowley back properly rather than the nanny persona he had taken to playing.

“Now what are you filling his head with, Brother Francis?”

_ I want your love and _

_ I want your revenge _

_ You and me could write a bad romance _

_ I want your love and _

_ All your lovers revenge _

_ You and me could write a bad romance _

Brother Francis-Aziraphale gulped, “About love, of course.”

Nanny Ashtoreth-Crowley tutted and smirked, “Your job is to tend to the plants, not teach.”

Aziraphale nearly melted. He missed it. They were around each other nearly everyday but rarely got to interact and even less so got to interact like this. The two of them were truly a bad romance, where they would certainly garner the revenge of both of their sides if they were ever found to be involved. Yet, the angel wanted more, he wanted that day back where they listened to music and sat on a blanket under a tree.

“Well, listen here, plants are about love,” he said, mostly to Warlock, but sending a small glance up to the demon, “they have their own language and everything. To responsibility give someone a flower if one of the loveliest things you could do.”

Nanny Ashtoreth-Crowley gritted their teeth and tried to keep smiling. “Yes, and if you yell enough, perhaps they will not wilt quickly.”

Warlock simply picked one and toddler off to his mother, leaving the two very opposite workers for a few moments of peace. Aziraphale pushed himself up and looked over at the demon. While Crowley could absolutely pull anything off, he wanted the demon to go back to his normal swagger.

**Bad romance, indeed** , the angel thinks. 

“You should stop putting such pleasant thoughts into his mind,” Crowley growled. 

“I’m just preemptively thwarting your afternoon.”  **Keep my eyes on the Antichrist** .

_ I don't wanna be friends, I don't wanna be friends _

_ Want your bad romance (caught in a bad romance) want your bad romance _

“Sure,” Crowley says, hips swaying just as they would in trousers as he walked off to go collect the boy. 

Aziraphale sighed and walked in the other direction. The faster the better, the less he saw of Crowley while listening to this infernal music the better. He had to just be friends with the demon. For the fate of the world, for their own lives, for remaining in any semblance of a relationship. It didn’t make any sense to do anything but that. Perhaps this is all because the end of the world is drawing closer?

_ In this farewell _

_ There's no blood, there's no alibi _

_ 'Cause I've drawn regret _

_ From the truth of a thousand lies _

_ So let mercy come and wash away _

_ What I've done _

The music changed to something a bit harder, similar to what he may hear riding in the Bentley with Crowley. Mrs. Dowling always listened to the most eclectic music groupings when Mr. Dowling wasn’t around. 

Yet this one had internal truths as well. Aziraphale had lied to Crowley so many times. Blamed so many misgivings on the Ineffable Plan rather than his own shortcomings. All he wanted was to know that Crowley wouldn’t turn on him in the end, that they wouldn’t be meant to harm one another, surely that was okay?

Then again, that wasn’t an entire truth. Less than ten years ago it was all about not wanting to fall. He picked up his gardening tools, that were mostly all for show, and made it farther away, not prepared to have any more heart wrenching revelations thanks to Mrs. Dowling's music. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide whether to use Bad Romance by Lady Gaga or What I've Done by Linkin Park, so they both got put in here. I imagine Mrs. Dowling is quite a bit younger than Mr. Dowling and is actually rather hip when her husband isn't around, so it worked out well. The yearn is high within this poor angel.


	9. I Found You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a trip out of London after the Notcalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley finally admit they have found each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super proud of this chapter. I had fun writing it, I found it warm, I love writing the Bentley as a character as a minor gear head, and the song is really sweet, so do please go listen to it. 
> 
>  
> 
> ['I Found You'-Andy Grammer](https://open.spotify.com/track/7jaDLcrbilPxoH4mIcYyB3?si=K9MfqfftQzWgyOCOrpaveA)

Two years after the Notpocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley continued to exist in happy codependence. Their body swap was undiscovered, or at least not bothered with, and Heaven and Hell left them alone in peace as long as order was too disturbed on Earth. Which, considering how little they had been influencing human affairs, was easy to do. The two beings simply left the arrangement behind and acted themselves for the first time in six thousand years. They still had their separate spaces, but walks in the park were daily, dinners with always together, and trips were routine, particularly to Tadfield. 

For the trips to Tadfield, however, Crowley was having to buy(read: steal) more and more music to get around the Bentley playing Queen’s Greatest Hits: Romance Edition whenever the angel got in. This ranged from repeatedly buying Tchaikovsky to branching out to the New Releases section. While he could buy things off of iTunes or just let Spotify go wild, he enjoyed giving the blonde haired being something to do during these rides. 

“Oh Crowley, this album seems rather moody,” Aziraphale said unwrapping the disc neatly and placing the plastic back in the bag. While some of his clothes has been slightly updated, for instance exchanging the tweed jacking for a more suit jacket look, the tartan was still ever present. 

“Aren’t you always telling me not to judge a book by its cover?”

“Quite right. I shall give it a go, then,” he said, sliding the disc in as the Bentley crooned ‘Somebody to Love’ at them. Which they had acquired a silent understanding to just ignore. So the new album, by some American called Andy Grammer, slowly came to life over Queen. “Oh, he has a very classic voice, don’t you think?”

Crowley simply hummed in agreement. It was not often that he picked something up that the blonde appreciated without it being an opera or classic composition. He merged onto the M25, not going his normal 90 to 100 miles per hour, but instead a far more reasonable 60. He had learned that his companion was far more willing to chat and look around if he took it a bit slower at times. 

Today, it seemed that the angel was quite content to chatter about the poetic authority of a decent singer and how perhaps he should be a writer instead. It made the demon chuckle every so often as he indulged his blonde passenger in a nod and occasional probing question.

_ On the way, I was crowned a king _

_ Felt the wind underneath my wings _

_ I've been high and I've been low _

_ Played the fool and the star of the show _

_ Gone along for a wild ride _

_ And I can say lookin' in your eyes _

_ That it all would've been a waste _

_ But I found you on the way _

Aziraphale is quiet. Crowley has taken a deep break and held it in starting at about ‘looking in your eye’. He reached over and jabbed a finger on the skip track button, but it started the song over again. His yellow eyes flicked up to Aziraphale’s face, which was quickly turning red. 

“Damn cheeky car,” he snarked. Changing tactics he hit the eject button, but the car wouldn’t give it up. 

“Its fine, really,” the passenger said, voice a bit higher than normal. It would seem that while the pair was quite accustomed to ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’ or ‘Killer Queen’ randomly popping throughout their conversations, some other random love song was out of the question. 

“Perhaps I should get a new car,” the red headed demon spit, attempting the same threatening voice his plants received. The car seemingly laughed at him as the engine pointlessly revved. 

“Really, Crowley, perhaps the machine is trying to say something,” Aziraphale said with slight crack in his voice.  

_ I found cynicism, I found criticism _

_ I've been the zero, the hero _

_ And I have been the villain _

_ I lost more than a heart can take _

_ But I found you on the way _

As the pair was now stuck in traffic, they had no choice but to uncomfortably sit and listen to this song in the cab of the Bentley. Crowley’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, really wishing he had a good glass of wine suddenly while Aziraphale’s hands wrung themselves, wished he had brought a book that was suitable for the car. 

They both turned their heads to look at one another and opened their mouths to speak, but no words came out, leaving them to gape there like fish out of water. Crowley conceded first with a growl as he snapped shut, trying not to clack his teeth. “So, who is who?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, I’d say I found the cynicism,” Crowley expanded, leaning back against the seat as they inched forward in traffic. 

“Ahh, well, we both found quite a bit of criticism. But I do suppose I probably had quite a bit more to loose,” Aziraphale commented, caught on. 

“I think we could both be zeroes and heroes, considering we saved Earth and no one who would actually care would ever thank us.”

“Did we actually do anything though?” Aziraphale pondered. 

“That would make me the villian, then” Crowley smirked. 

Then they both got quiet. One thinking they lost their best friend to a bookshop fire and the other thinking they had been abandon on a planet that was about to have a celestial war. Aziraphale was the first to act, as he somehow always was, by placing his hand firmly on the demon’s scrawny shoulder. 

“I’m glad I found you.”

“Hey now, I believe it was I that slithered up to you on that wall!”

_ On the way, I was given the keys _

_ To the city, they were mine to keep _

_ Over time, every lock'll change _

_ But you love me all the same _

_ I found pessimism, I found skepticism _

_ I've been the corner performer and sung in front of millions _

_ I lost more than a heart can take _

_ But I found you on the way _

“I did have the keys to the city in a sense,” Aziraphale lightly laughed, “If that is what you could call the Garden of Eden.”

“I would say getting kicked out for handing away your flaming sword counts as changing the locks too,” Crowley scoffed. Aziraphale lightly nudged him, hand never leaving Crowley’s shoulder. “Hey! No abusing the driver.”

“Your right, I’d never abuse this lovely car.”

“Why I’ve never,” Crowley declared indignantly and took his hands off the steering wheel, holding the back of one to cover his mouth and placing the other over his heart. He hoped that this was enough to redirect away from the next section of song. He could tell by how Aziraphale was tapping his fingers against his knees that he wasn’t going to get off so easy. Afterall, the angel was not terrified his driving in this moment. Then again, inching along at 5 to 10 miles per hour was not exactly scary to anyone. 

“I hope,” he started, fingers gripping his pants, “that in some way, we are permitted to love each other.”

“We must, angel, for I have the pessimism and skepticism covered,” Crolwey said, feeling an unfamiliar heat on his neck. 

“Yes, more than enough for the both of us, so please do share the load sometimes.”

The heat that Crowley felt on his neck rise to his ears and willed his face to move forward.He did not trust his voice to either not shake or hiss. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Crowley, now that I have found you.”

Crowley’s mouth was dry. He swallowed hard, “Angel, we have found each other time and again for over 6000 years. Even if you left, I would fight my way back to you. For you. Prove myself to you.”

The demon’s vision never broke from the windshield, but he did need shift in order to feel the blue eyes look at him in a new light. 

_ On the way, I'll have won the race _

_ If the one thing that I can say _

_ I found you, I found you _

_ I found you, I found you _

_ It all would've been a waste _

_ But I found you on the way _

“Now, to just hope we have won the race to our side in time.”

To hear Aziraphale say that unprompted by him, Crowley thanked the World all over again. He also thanked the World for traffic as he pulled the hand break, shifted in the driver seat, and leaned over to kiss his angel. 

It was so different than that time over 20 years ago, yet they both nearly remembered how they fit together and how mouths were supposed to move. It wasn’t aggressive, it wasn’t sweet, it was more like clicking the final puzzle piece in together on a child before they got to it or getting to a particularly satisfying final chapter of a book.

Then the honking started, making Crowley jump up and back, hitting his head on the roof. 

“Perhaps this will warrant more exploration,” Aziraphale sighs, back to gripping his pants. Crowley disengages the parking break and smoothes the Bentley forward. 

“Yes, and another album if you would, angel,” the hand that was shifting moving to Aziraphale’s knee, “I don’t know if I’m ready for more love songs just yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](https://etienne-rune.tumblr.com/)! Leave me comments and kudos because I have some more ideas...maybe a Struts song :D


	10. Time Won't Go Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally decided to do something about it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a lovely and warm chapter.

A year after that day in the Bentley, Crowley stood facing Aziraphale under a dusk sky. Anathema was before them reading from a small leather-bound book, Newt near by with an old Polaroid camera, and the now 14 year-old group known as the Them plus a former hellhound circled around the the pair with smartphones to further capture the moment. Pepper, Wenslydale, and Brian didn’t understand or remember much of anything that happened three years ago, but they gladly accepted Adam’s godfather’s with open arms, particularly because they made games just as interesting as Anathema and Newt Device-Pulsifer. Warlock had gotten to know Adam through email somehow and had convinced his parents for a bodygaurd free sleep over and when that happened he never strayed far from his birthday twin’s side. Madame Tracy and Shadwell stood a bit farther back. 

“And do you, Anthony Crowley, take this man to be your husband, to hold and to cherish from now until eternity?”

“I do,” the demon said, thankful for sunglasses to hide his misting eyes. 

“And you, Aziraphale, take this man to be your husband, to love and to keep warm from now until eternity?”

“Keep warm?” the angel questioned, perplexed by the surprise bit of the vow his soon-to-be husband snuck in.

“Snake blood requires much warmth,” Crowley smiled, “Just as strong to me as anything else.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, “I do, in that case.”

“Then I pronounce you husband and husband, in all the powers vested in me and in all the forces we have defeated. You may seal your commitment,” Anathema said as she draped a red and blue cloth around their hands. They hadn’t wanted a handfasting in the traditional sense, but couldn’t do a Christian wedding either, so this seemed like a lovely mix of it all. 

The two eternal beings stepped close and leaned in, Crowley leaning down ever so slightly to kiss his husband. It was light by meant the world. Neither of them had grown comfortable with such contact yet after six thousand or so years, it still felt electric and perhaps like someone was about to be smited. However, surrounded by people who cared for them in one way or another, and who endorsed their relationship, Crowley relaxed and smiled against the angel, earning him a hum of contentment. 

“Now we dance!” an impatient Adam proclaimed. The two looked over to their so-called godson and scowled until a light tune came on. “Nothing crazy, this reminded me of you two and Warlock agreed, so we figured it could be a kind of wedding present.”

 

_ Time won't go slowly though _

_ I beg it to last _

_ I just wanna be here with you _

_ That's all I ask _

 

Anathema took the cloth away and stepped back, leaving them no excuse. Crowley cleared his throat and made those incoherent noises Aziraphale recognized as trying to get a point across, but not knowing how to. 

“I believe it is like this, my dear,” the angel said. He took the other man’s arms and placed them on his shoulders, enjoying the feel of the fine black fabric again his neck. In turn, he put his arms around Crowley’s waist, this pristine white of his tuxedo looking like a new belt. 

 

_ And this could be the end of everything outside our walls _

_ And empires could fall away and cities razed _

_ And I know I'd only wanna fall in love with you _

_ Only wanna fall in love with you _

 

“Wot? Sure, I mean, are you? That is, to be sure?” Crowley stuttered. 

“Quite,” Aziraphale said, pretending to understand at all what the demon meant. He began to sway them side to side. “We’ve had a few of those empires go away in our time.”

“Yeah, pretty happy that we don’t have to be involved in such rubbish anymore, angel,” Crowley said, finally getting back into a bit of a beat. 

“We fell in love along the way.”

“I’m still falling, angel.”

 

_ Time won't go slowly though _

_ Always so fast _

_ You are the answer to _

_ Every question I've asked _

 

“Oh, my dear, please don’t lie, not at our wedding,” the angel said with a pout.

“I’ve never lied to you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said smiling down at him, “even if it had been 12,000 years to get here, I’d still be falling. You are the one thing I am not made about falling for.”

“We never did wander down that theological argument,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley closer.

“You are the answer,” Crowley mimicked the song, “I asked the question of if angels could love other angels.”

Aziraphale stared up at him in disbelief. 

“Or at least, that was the one immediately before,” the demon said before trailing off.

 

_ We need more time _

_ But there's a little part of me that loves it when we rush _

_ Can I go home? _

_ Knowin' that I'll never feel how I do now _

 

“We now have all the time in the world, just two angels in love,” Aziraphale whispered. 

“It took us not having anytime left to kick us ahead a bit,” the demon chuckled. 

“Oh, a bit, my dear. The whole run away speech was very endearing.”

“Shut-up.” 

It was only filled with love though, as Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s temple and they continued to sway. Overhead, a shooting star passed by, blessing their union in an entirely different way. Around them, their friends paired off and danced various dances or discussed various changes, such as Newt and Anathema’s new kitten, or clearly avoided discussing others, luck Warlock and Adam intertwining pinkies. 

For years to come, an angel and a demon would love each other, but wish for time to slow down around them regardless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is it! I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave me a comment or come follow me on [tumblr ](https://etienne-rune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Go listen to [Time Won't Go Slowly by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AA2LBP_vqcw) now! It was a lovely song and made me feel things

**Author's Note:**

> The other set of lyrics in here is from "Blue Eyes" by Elton John, released 1982. "I Guess That's Why they Call it the Blues" was in 1983.


End file.
